Final chapter! Ugh, endings are so bittersweet.

It had begun to rain. Over the course of the battle, the sky had gone from a sickly blue to a fitful grey, and the clouds gave in, releasing a sheet of tears. They dampened Bellamy's hair and mixed with his blood, but he didn't care. He didn't even feel it. He couldn't see anything beyond Clarke and the Ice Queen, lying still in the dirt.

Bellamy moved, ignoring the pain that stabbed at his knees and shoulders. He used his gun for support, pulling himself up and stumbled forward, one step, another. To his distant surprise, no Scout nearby tried to grab him. No Ice Soldier fired their weapon. They surrounded him, still and resolute as ghostly statues.

Octavia beat him there, kneeling over their Ice Queen. She felt around for some sign of life, pulse, holding her finger beneath the woman's nose. When she came up empty, she glanced at the Ice Scouts, and made the announcement.

Their Queen was dead.

Then Octavia turned to Clarke, whose face had gone ashen and pale. Bellamy's leg nearly buckled beneath him again, but he forced himself forward, until he was close enough. He dropped down, breath leaving him in a painful gasp.

Octavia felt for a pulse. "She's alive. Just missed her heart."

Bellamy unzipped Clarke's coat, throwing off what few pieces of protective gear she'd had on. "That's because she wasn't aiming for it," he replied. "I need something to staunch the bleeding." He heard the desperation clawing in his voice, but he spoke evenly. His hands tremored as he clamped them over Clarke's wound, but blood found its way through, bubbling up between his fingers until both his hands were covered in it. "O!"

Octavia ripped something from her and gave the wad of cloth to Bellamy. He snatched it from her and replaced his hand with it. "We need to get her to Mount Weather."

"Yeah," Octavia agreed. "But we won't be able to make it through if they still have men over there attacking us." She stood up abruptly, gun in hand, and fired a few rounds in the air. They seemed more deafening in the abating war.

"Your Leader is dead!" she shouted again, louder over the swell of Ice Scouts. "Lay down your weapons! And one of you," she brandished her own gun towards A Scout and spoke in a voice carved from steel. "Go inform the rest of your people."

Bellamy hadn't known what to expect, and as the soldiers stood there for another moment, a terrifying fear rose inside him, one that whispered the possibility Luna had been wrong, that killing their Queen made no difference, that they were now just waiting to die.

But the hiss of swords and blades falling from their hands to the ground echoed around them, glinting dully against the dirt. Minutes seemed to trickle away as swords fell with the rain, essential minutes that Bellamy didn't know what to do with. Everything inside him screamed to get Clarke out of here, to make sure she lived and he was about to do just that, when one Ice Scout grabbed something around his neck. Bellamy stared first in alarm, then in confusion, as he brought something small and cylindrical to his lips.

A moment later, the man began to convulse, a violent tremor shuddering down his frame. Then he dropped, eyes glazing over before he collapsed beside his weapons.

"No," Bellamy whispered.

But it was a chain reaction, a domino effect, that knocked down Scout after Scout, soldier after soldier, and Bellamy watched as waves of them crumpled, like a high tide returning back out to sea. For some reason, the sight reminded him of a morbid nursery rhyme he'd overheard on the Ark, sung by hand-holding children as they skipped happily in circles.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

********

Bellamy didn't have the luxury of pacing. He couldn't walk well on his leg and he'd require rehabilitation on his arm, but that was nothing compared to sitting outside the Med-bay, and waiting for someone to come out of the doors, for the bearing of bad news or good news.

They'd made it back to Mount Weather after the area had been deemed clear, and it was nearly identical to Tondc, the grounds beside the Mountain covered in fallen Ice Soldiers, bent over like weeds. He'd walked through them and banged on the door, until his somewhat decent hand had become bloodied and torn from the force of it. Then they'd been led inside. Clarke had been taken both of them to the Med-bay.

About halfway through his stitches and bandaging, he'd heard a shout from the other room and he'd started to run as best he could, to the glass window down the hall. Beyond it was Clarke, lying on a table with something being pressed to her chest. Her body had jolted with the force of volts, electrifying her insides. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Then he'd slammed his good hand against the glass until the stitches had reopened.

"Again!" he'd screamed at Abby as she'd stood, frozen, over the body of her daughter. "Do it again!"

A third time. 

"Clarke, come on!"

The paddles were removed and Abby had shouted something that sounded like adrenaline. Someone handed her a syringe. Then she plunged it down, straight into her daughter's heart.

A horrific moment had passed when nothing happened. But Clarke suddenly jolted up, eyes flying open. Abby had called out orders and her assistant fettled around Clarke. But the fear in Abby's eyes had minimized which offered Bellamy marginal comfort. That was when he'd become aware of the shaking. His core seemed to tremor inside, knocking around his soul, and he'd slid to the floor, his leg no longer able to keep him upright.

That's where the man who'd been in the process of bandaging him up found him, and tried to coax him back down the hall to finish.

"You're going to do it right here," he'd told him. And there was something in his voice that the man must've heard, because he seemed to think it unwise to argue.

Which now left Bellamy in the same position, other than the chair he'd been given, nearly a day later. Clarke was still in surgery and the doors had remained unopened for hours, to the point he felt sure he was going to bang on that window again. But exhaustion had kept him from moving much since. Pain still radiated up his leg and arms, effective in keeping him from resting. He'd refused the painkillers offered to him; the last thing he wanted was to miss something important just because he was high on morphine.

But he was beginning to feel disoriented. His vision was starting to blur and he almost didn't notice the familiar person approaching until they stood right next to him. Octavia cast a glance to the door. "How's she doing?" She asked, in a tone purposefully passive.

Bellamy shook his head. "I don't know."

He felt her eyes on him. "How are you doing?"

He shrugged as best he could with one partially lame arm and another wounded one. "I've been better," he said, but the usual teasing in his voice was gone. Now it was like a cavern, hollow and echoic to his own ears.

"This is Clarke, Bell," Octavia said. "She'll pull through."

Bellamy looked over at is little sister, cuts and bruises marring her face and arms. A lump seemed to rise in his throat and his vision blurred again, this time with unshed tears. Octavia caught sight of it and she wrapped her arms around him, careful of his injuries, but he didn't care.

"She's going to be okay," Octavia repeated.

Bellamy's voice fell, until it was just above a whisper. "I love her, O."

For a moment, his sister didn't reply. Then she let out a quiet breath, almost amused, almost relieved. "And finally, he sees it."

*********

Something bright stung her eyes. It toyed just beyond them, casting her lids in a reddish glow. She tried to remember how to open them, as if it hadn't been a long time since she'd done so.

Clarke blinked up, and was greeted by a large orb of light, as if a bit of the sun had been pulled from its perch and strung there. For a second, Clarke wondered if she were dead. But she doubted death was lit by fluorescent bulbs and searched her mind for understanding, fingering through her memories like files.

Blood. Voices. The shock of a bullet punching through her chest.

She sucked in a breath and jerked up, the movement issuing a burst of pain that radiated from her chest.

"Hey, easy, Princess," a familiar voice sounded beside her, and a strong hand went to her arm. "Take it slow."

A surge of emotion welled up in her throat and she felt her lips parted in surprise as she stared up at Bellamy, sitting in a chair beside the bed she rested on. She couldn't discern the plethora of feelings that flickered through her. But there was one that roared above all the rest, and that was the relief she felt, reflecting in his eyes. He was alive. Given, he didn't look the best; shadows were painted beneath his eyes and his face seemed to lack the usual color. One arm was in a sling and the other was bandaged. She spotted a pair of crutches resting against the wall, but that all paled in comparison to the simple fact he was alive.

"You're okay," she murmured, as if to say it just to say it; to ensure its authenticity.

Bellamy offered her a slight smile. "So are you. Which is no surprise to anyone; you're too stubborn to die." He said it jokingly, but there was an undertone of something dark there, coursing just beneath the surface.

Before Clarke could address it, her thoughts turned back to ones of the war, her memories still murky but gaining clarity. More blood. The shattered sound of gunfire. Perhaps a swift death will be doing her a favor.

Clarke tried to sit up again. "What happened? Did it...did it work?" After all, she assumed something must have, otherwise they both undoubtedly would be dead.

He gently pushed her back down, until her head returned to the pillow. "Yeah," he said. "It worked."

Clarke sensed no pride from him. Nothing short of simple appeasement that they had survived. On the contrary, Bellamy sounded distant, his voice haunted.

"How many?" She asked. No elaboration was needed.

A shadow bloomed over his eyes. "Around three hundred. Kane lost half the Guard."

Clarke sucked in a breath. Three hundred dead. Three hundred bodies that littered the ground around a then-burning camp, now surely reduced to ashes.

"And the Ice Soldiers? What happened to the Scouts?"

A muscle flexed in his jaw. "Mass suicide."

Clarke felt herself gape at him. She couldn't keep the horror out of her expression and didn't bother to try. Yet another thing she'd underestimated The Ice Nation capable of. They weren't just loyal; they were brainwashed, indoctrinated even to the point of their own demise. Clarke wondered just how far you'd have to go to do something that depraved and she felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction in having killed their Queen. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it was gone.

"There's something else, Clarke," Bellamy said and trepidation unfurled inside her. "They recovered Indra, but her injuries..." He gave an imperceptible shake of his head.

Clarke swallowed. It was true that she hadn't gotten along with the Grounder Chief, but she'd respected the woman who had done what she could for her people and who had given her life for them in the end.

"And the children?" Clarke added, almost hesitantly.

This time, Bellamy nodded in reassurance. "Safe. They may have to stay here for a little while longer, until Tondc is up and functioning again."

Sudden anxiety mounted in her chest. "Are there enough, though?" she asked. Enough Grounders to reclaim it?

"You're still their leader, Clarke," he told her, his hand falling from her arm and to her hand. He gripped it gently but firmly in his own. "They'll depend on you now more than ever. Especially after what you've shown them."

She smirked. "Every leader should be willing to die for their people."

"But you were running a risk," Bellamy countered. "There was no certainty that it would work. This all could've been a trap. It could've just as easily been a rumor they started to entrap people. But you still took that chance. " He cupped the side of her cheek and smiled. "You didn't give up. Not even then. And that, Clarke, is one of the things I love about you."

Her breath hitched at the mention of the word and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "Bellamy, I-"

The door to the Med-bay suddenly opened, cutting her off. Clarke looked up, and met her mother's relieved gaze.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," Abby told her, coming forward and stopping beside her. She ran a hand through her daughter's hair. "I've been in the infirmary around the clock."

Clarke frowned. "Around the clock...? How long have I been out?"

"Nearly three days," Abby answered.

Clarke's eyes widened in disbelief. "Three days?" She asked and again, attempted to push passed Bellamy's arms. "I have to get back. I have to-"

"I think winning a war and nearly dying, earns you a few days off," Bellamy said. "There are still things that need to be taken care of here."

He was right; the Sky people had suffered a detrimental loss with half its Guard. They still occupied Mount Weather and they had to decide whether they would remain here or return to Camp Jaha. If Camp Jaha was still left in one piece. But that still left one last thing that Clarke needed to know of.

"Luna's people," she breathed. "Are they still in the Ice Nation? They need to be let out."

"A team was already assembled to recover them," Bellamy answered calmly. She let out a relieved sigh and gave him a grateful smile. Then she returned her attention to her mother. "Will there be a meeting?" Clarke asked.

"No," Said Abby. "Kane considered putting things to a vote on staying here, but I discouraged the idea. I think our people have been inside walls long enough."

Clark agreed full-heartedly. The people from the sky hadn't come to Earth just to switch it for another Ark. And as of three days ago, as of the moment Clarke pulled that trigger, the ground had become safe again. She wouldn't bask in that for long, though. Threats were still out there, unbeknownst of Camp Jaha, or the advantages it held. But they'd learn soon enough, and Clarke doubted any one of her people had seen the last of war.

"We still need to get back," Clarke told Abby and then her gaze flickered to Bellamy. "Soon. I want to start out next week."

"Clarke," her mother's tone was disapproving. "You were shot. You need to rest." She laid a hand on her shoulder, as if to hold her to there.

Clarke smiled at her, but shook her head. "I'll rest at Tondc. But I have to, Mom. They're my people." Those words came freely now, no longer weighted by commitment or fear or even obligation. Instead, they offered Clarke strength. Those were the same people she'd stood beside and fought for. She'd bled for them, and had been willing to die to save them.

"That is," she added, looking back at Bellamy. "If you're still my Second. Kane may need you here, especially with half the Guard gone."

But Bellamy just scoffed. "I don't know how essential an injured guard who can't walk would be to him, Clarke. Doesn't mean I can't help out, but I'm not coming back. I'm going with you."

Clarke couldn't help but smile at that.

Abby clearly sensed something personal brewing between the two, because she kissed Clarke's temple and excused herself, having to return to the infirmary. Clarke watched her go, still staring at the glass door even after it had shut.

"You sure about this?" Clarke asked him, finally returning her gaze to his face. But the look she found there surprised her. The one she'd last glimpsed, confused and scared in the midst of battle and impossible choice was gone. Now returned the one she knew; strong and unyielding, the emotion playing in his eyes a force to be reckoned with.

"Do you really have to ask?"

She grinned. "Guess not. But at least this time, you won't have to worry about Octavia sneaking out. I imagine she'll be busy at Tondc. Also," she shrugged. "What you said about Indra...I've decided to offer the position of Grounder Chief to Lincoln. If he'll take it. He'd make a great advisor and it would be good for the people if they have him to look up to."

"I think that's a good idea," Bellamy said. "But could we stop talking about plans for just a second? There's something I need to do."

Clarke gave him a quizzical look. "What-?"

But Bellamy just ducked his head down, until he was kissing her. Fire leapt up in her chest and one of her hands snaked up around his neck. Her fingers wove through his curly hair, and she didn't even care that he smelled of sweat and blood.

She felt him smile against her lips. "I love you, Clarke," he whispered, and that fire consumed her entirety, burning up the pain in her chest until there was nothing left. How it happened, when it happened, Clarke still wasn't sure. But she was done trying to figure it out; it didn't matter. What mattered was the man she clung to, the constant in her life of unpredictability and death. But he was alive, and so was she. And for now that was enough.

"I love you, too, Bellamy Blake."

********

The week passed by slowly. Thanks to reports and collective updates, Clarke understood the extent of damage done to Tondc. Most of the houses had burnt and the doors would need reconstructing. What food had been locked in storage was now charred ruins and they hadn't managed to clear even half the bodies yet. Perhaps it would've been easier to make camp somewhere else. It would definitely be a solution to avoid unsanitary concerns, but Clarke knew the Grounders wouldn't go, which left clearing out the corpses as a must. It would be tantamount to the disposal of the Mountain Men-maybe more, because Clarke still didn't have an estimation of how many Ice soldiers there were.

Disgust welled inside her at the thought.

In addition to that concern, winter was still approaching, which added a time bomb to Tondc. It was all the more reason she had to get back; if things weren't rectified quickly, they'd need to seek different shelter, and Clarke bristled at what option that would leave. She didn't resent Mount Weather anymore, but nothing inside her was eager to return to it.

When the following week drew to a close, Abby again tried to convince Clarke to stay a little longer, but she refused. So by the time mid afternoon rolled around, nearly two weeks later, Clark walked from the huge circular door and onto the ground, dew frosted over and painting patchworks of ice over the ground.

The cart that had taken the children from Tondc now occupied the area beside them, and kids between all ages flocked back to it. Some were smiling and Clarke couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for them, for those who wouldn't be embraced by their mother or father. Some were orphans now, just like Tyrell's son, who sat unsmiling in the back corner.

Lincoln and Octavia stood nearby and though they still held weapons, there was a looseness in their hold. The worries of being attacked were minimal and all it had taken was three hundred lives and the possible massacre of an entire settlement, done by their own hand. But people had still come out with their lives, and unlike previous casualties, the children had been spared.

Before leaving, Clarke hugged Abby once more, then clambered onto the horse Lincoln had brought back. Her wound burned when she moved, and Clarke could still feel the echo of the bullet inside her chest. It had been pulled from her on the operation table, but it left its mark nonetheless, in a pitifully small scar a few inches below her collarbone.

When they left behind Mount Weather, the discomfort of the bullet wound seemed to grow more noticeable the closer they trekked to Tondc, along with her apprehension, until they were indistinguishable from each other. The last time Clarke had seen the sky above the camp, it had been grey. But the smoke was gone now, the traces of it ever having been there in the first place wiped from existence. The ghosts of flames seemed to leap up beside her and Clarke could still hear the screams that rose in volume with each mile, but this wasn't Camp Jaha, and this time, she would not run away.

Evening had just begun to set in when the statue finally broke into view, still standing stall and unperturbed as if it hadn't witnessed a war. But around, there were no remnants of one. The rain had washed out the earth's cuts, taking with it the blood of battle.

Clarke drew in a deep breath and eased her way off the horse.

"Together?" Bellamy asked beside her, eyeing the camp that stood just before them.

Clarke stared ahead and wove her fingers through his. "Together."